


Winchesters & Co.

by arazialotis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arazialotis/pseuds/arazialotis
Summary: When most people run away, they join the circus; but the Winchester boys were running from it. They wanted more than their father’s business; a paranormal circus of horror and delight. Dean Winchester thought he would never step foot here again but John’s death obliged him to return. Now that he’s back, the only thing that may tempt him to stay is you. The girl with white hair and a gift to see the future.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester wandered through the grassy field shrouded in fog. He followed along the dirt path laced with fairy lights and signs that dripped with red paint; warning eager patrons as to what lies ahead. The gravel crunched under the sole of his shoes as he neared the spectacle. As was tradition when he reached the twin oak trees, Dean removed his wool fedora - matching the texture and navy blue of his trench coat - before passing under the string of carnival lights and the great golden sign; Winchesters & Co.

Dean replaced the cap over his slicked back hair as he continued on his way. Neon lights danced through the air on the rides that spun and twirled. A slight smile even broke out as he took in the familiar sound of ecstatic screams and laughter of children. He passed stall after stall of sideshow acts; human dragons that breathed fire, sword swallowers, shapeshifters that could form into your deepest fantasies, witches that sold enticing potions, and physics defying contortionists.

He wished he had been returning under different circumstances. In fact, he wished he wasn’t returning at all. Four years ago he had walked out on the family business and intended never to return. But this couldn’t be avoided. He’d find the man he was looking for in the tent. When he had left, the main acts featured angel acrobats and a werewolf transformation. His father, John, had constructed it all. His ingenuity had carefully balanced awe and horror dazzling audiences for decades.

Yet the precision and attention John had poured into the circus withheld any leftovers for Dean or his little brother Sam. They were practically raised by the performers. Which made this visit all the more about business than family. That was until a familiar voice, sweet to the ears like the melody of a songbird, broke the thoughts racing in his mind.

“Penny for your fortune good sir.” You called out; leaned casually against the door of your wooden caravan, smiling ear to ear.

Dean turned to meet the one thing of this circus that stayed with him. The one thing he consistently thought about. The one thing he regretted leaving. He looked you up and down. Your patched skirt matched the faded paint that once vibrantly colored the wood. The black tank top clung tightly against your skin, ending just below your ribs. A woven shawl that used to be a brighter purple draped over your shoulders.

Although the colors had faded over the years, youth had not left your face. You and Dean were close in age but you were never exactly sure of yours. He was about six when you had first arrived. The two of you practically grew up together here. He was wary of you at first. After all, a six year old with pure white hair was a spectacle all on its own. But what really made his hair stand on end is when you would look into someone's future. You would grab the customer’s hand with both of yours, your eyes glazed over - mirroring the same milky color of your hair. Of course, you hated it as well, perhaps more than Dean, but John insisted. 

Dean eventually came around, growing ever more curious. You eventually became inseparable, practically joined at the hip. Off hours, you would run through the grassy fields and into the woods, having adventures and pretending to run away from this dreadful place together. But as Dean’s distaste grew for the business, you grew more comfortable in selling fortunes and settling into the lifestyle here. Your white hair still remained, maintained in upkept dreadlocks, usually pulled up halfway to keep it out of your face.

Dean chuckled in response. “I thought you were supposed to be collecting money, not giving it away… Moonchild.’’ He stopped in his tracks, heading closer to you.

You rolled your eyes at the old nickname. Your bare feet strode down the three steps leading up to your caravan to meet him halfway. “Ay, I would pay good money to read your fortune Winchester.” You teased.

He had only allowed you to read his fortune once, when he was about eleven years old. Hands shook in yours as your eyes turned white. You saw him mourning over the Winchesters’ beloved dog, Gunner. When your eyes turned back, at such a young age, you had not the heart to tell him. Three weeks later the fortune passed. Dean blamed you; accusing if you had told him, they could have saved Gunner. But even then, you knew there was no way changing the fate of what you saw. And although your relationship mended after the mourning was done, Dean never let you read his future again no matter how much you begged.

“I decide my own destiny.” He responded as usual.

“All paths lead to the same place. Like branches to the trunk of the tree.” You quipped.

“Then consider this, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” He expounded.

“Ah.” You scoffed. “Come here.” You waved him in for a hug.

He chuckled and gave you a quick embrace. “It’s good to be back.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” You prodded.

“I missed you.” Dean clarified.

Two children squealed in delight, running down the path past you, popcorn in hand.

“And I you.” You sighed and held both his shoulders. “I just wish you had returned under better circumstances.” 

Dean nodded his head in agreeance.

“I’m sorry.” You attempted to sympathize.

“Don’t be. I hardly had a relationship with the man.” He took one of your hands and you dropped the other.

“Dean…” You soothed. “He was still your father.”

Dean let go of your hand and shook his head, preventing any sign of emotion from breaking through.

“Is Sam coming?” You asked.

“Yes, in a few days time…” He confirmed. “Well, I should go find Crowley.” You nodded your head. “You want to come?”

“Yeah, okay.” You agreed.

Not that you wanted to. You despised John’s right hand. After Dean left, leaving only John, Crowley rose up to partner. Since John’s death, Crowley had assured the show continued. Little mourning came from him, but what could you expect from a demon. You followed after Dean. Before you left the stone path that led up to your caravan you were pulled back by surprise.

You looked down to your ankle and were reminded. An iron shackle wrapped around your left foot chained back to your home. Dean furrowed his brow looking down. You bit your lip searching for the explanation.

“It’s just for show…” slipped past your lips. Dean looked between your eyes and the chain. “Crowley should have the key.” 

“I’ll be back.” Dean insisted. 

“You got stuff to do, I’m sure I’ll see you around Winchester.” You winked as he started back towards the tent.

Even though the carnival lights strung up against the roof, the growing darkness was settling and there were still many hours to go. You grabbed a stick and poked at a fire pit, stirring up coals still warm from yesterday. Throwing some kindling and a couple more pokes ignited the flame. You threw on more sustainable fuel, grabbed a throw pillow from the porch, and sat down holding your hands to the heat. You hoped the warmth and flames would entice curious customers to venture near.

\---

After navigating his way through the maze of games and attractions, Dean found the main tent. From the lights and music, the show had already began. Dean slipped through a back curtain, not wanting to cause a disturbance. Not much had changed. Angels dove from stunning heights only spreading their wings at the last possible second and soaring back upwards avoiding flames spewing from the circus ring. They swung from trapezes, flipped on tightropes high in the air. Each move more daring than any human could attempt. Their wings dazzled with gold and silver. The audience oohed and aahed at each moment.

Crowley was leaned against the bleachers, infusing himself into the shadows. Dean came up next to him, staying in the light, crossing his arms. Both men stayed in place watching the show for a few moments.

“Nice of you to drop by on such short notice.” Crowley stared ahead.

Dean paused before answering. “He was my father, after all,” Recalling your earlier statement.

“Yes…” Crowley pondered.

“You have the will?” Dean asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “It has yet to be opened.” He turned to leave.

Dean grabbed him by his coat jacket. “Why is the girl chained?”

Crowley scoffed and his eyes narrowed. “There’s a lot for you to learn, boy.”

Dean released his griped and Crowley tugged his jacket straight. They headed to John’s house and office laying far beyond the grounds, bordering the woods. The two story farmhouse appeared to have recently been worked on. Fresh coats of soft yellow paint had been applied since Dean had left. Green shutters trimmed the windows. The landscaping and flower gardens were upkept with only a few weeds poking through the soil since John’s demise.

Crowley paused at the bottom of the stairs, allowing Dean to continue on his own. Dean didn’t realize until his grip was around the door knob.

He turned back to Crowley. “You coming?” 

“I’ve made that mistake once before.” Crowley grimly eluded.

Dean ignored the man’s cryptic response and stepped through the door, it becoming quickly apparent why Crowley did not want to join him. John’s house, top to bottom, was covered in red spray painted devil’s traps. The entry ways, the windows, under the rugs, the stairs. Sigils were marked to hide John’s whereabouts. Empty potion bottles lined the mantels. The trap Dean was standing in had been the only one that was broken.

“What is this?” Dean softly questioned.

“Your father had not reported in for nearly two days when I thought I better check on him.” Crowley explained still from outside. “Lo and behold, I walk right into this… Luckily, Nigel was with me and freed me from the trap. He found your father in his office, clutching the Colt. Not a single round fired.”

The wooden floors creaked underneath Dean’s soles as he went deeper into the house, towards his father’s office. The smell of sulfur growing with each step closer. The French doors hung open. Nigel, Crowley’s conniving second in command, removed the body but had left everything else the same.

The office matched the disarray of the rest of the house; traps, bottles, and sigils. The Colt lay on his desk. Dean spun the chamber, counting as he went; one, two, three, four, five, six. It came to stop, completely filled. He shuffled the papers on the desk but knew what he needed would be in the safe. An oak bookcase replaced the wall behind the desk. He tapped against the back panels, forgetting it’s exact location. When he found the hollow one, he cleared the books onto the desk and popped it open.

He tried the combination he remember from four years ago, doubting it would work. Much to his surprise, the lock gave way and the door swung open. There were a few stacks of cash and jewels, but Dean went for the sealed parcel. After shutting the safe, he replaced the panel and books. He grabbed the silver letter opener from the desk and broke the red wax seal. 

The papers inside were still crisp, untouched since the day they were typed:

I, John Winchester, residing outside of Lawrence Kansas, declare this to be my will and I revoke any and all previous wills and/or condicils I previously made.  
Everything goes to my boys, Dean and Sam Winchester.

Dean sat the will down. His dad never was one for many words and straight to the point. Dean fished through the rest of the envelope, finding the deeds to the house, the land, and the business. Permits to operate the circus on this land and other miscellaneous documents. Although he had removed the papers, there was still weight in the parchment. He turned the envelope upside down and out slid a skeleton key into the palm of his hand. One he had never seen before and had no idea what it opened. He inspected the envelope and documents one last time, looking for the key’s explanation but came up empty handed.

He slid the key into his coat pocket and headed out to find Crowley. The demon remained in the same spot, leaned up against the banister post. He turned when he heard Dean’s footsteps near.

“Find anything of importance?” Crowley inquired.

“Oh yes.” Dean trotted down the stairs.

“And the will?” Crowley pressed.

Dean replaced his cap on top of his head. “Everything goes to Sam and I.”

“I’d like to have a look at it.” He appealed.

Of course he would. Dean chuckled to himself before pointing back at the open door. “Be my guest.”

Crowley sneered in response.

“What of his body?” Dean ignored him.

“Cremated. He wished not to come back as a sideshow freak.” Crowley hesitantly explained.

“Good.”

“They’re in my office if you’d like to have a proper ceremony.” He referred to the ashes.

“I’ll wait for Sam…” Dean declined. “Now about the girl.”

“She has something to do with all this, I tell you.” Crowley accused. “They were up in arms against me; but I prospered off your father, I wouldn’t want him dead. We had a deal, him and me.” 

“Hold up. I am not accusing you of anything.” Dean assured. “I just want to know what happened.”

Crowley took a deep breath calming himself. “Near the end, couple weeks out I’d say, your father changed. He cut all the demon acts and sent them packing. He became paranoid, isolated, locked himself in that house before dark fell. And he was visiting her quarters; daily, hourly, sometimes. She knows something, I know she does!”

Dean remained steady. “Calm down. You look like a parrot with its feathers ruffled up. Let me go talk to her.” Dean held out his hand. “The key?”

“It’s not a good idea, mate.” Crowley warned but willfully obliged.

\------

The flames were now dancing high, quickly consuming logs you had thrown on to feed the warmth. A few customers had lined up, Dean lingered in the background waiting for you to finish. Two throw pillows were on the ground, you sat cross legged on one as a customer had stood up to leave. A little boy, not quite eight, cautiously approached you.

“It’s okay.” You reached your hand out. “It won’t hurt. I promise.” You smiled. “It kinda feels like, running through a field and your hand is outstretched into the long grass. Or like a dozen butterflies landed in your palm and are giving you kisses.” 

The boy laughed and eagerly jumped into a kneel on the pillow. 

“Now, did you bring me a quarter?” You playfully smirked.

He shyfully shook his head no.

“Tsk…” You shook your head scoldingly, but then changed your mind and smiled. “That’s okay.” You reached your hand out for his. “Just don’t tell anyone.” You winked.

He placed his hand in yours. You turned it, palm side up, placing both your thumbs in the center.

“Don’t be afraid.” You warned. Your eyes went white, blinding you to the world. “It will only last a couple of seconds.” You whispered.

Your world was white. Tendrils of light pink and green danced at the side of your vision. You followed a pink thread, leading you to a vision of a classroom. It was hazy, but you could still make out they boy, as he furiously scribbled down on a piece of paper. Not moments later he appeared in different clothes. A teacher waltzed around the room handing out papers. A huge A+ was circled on top of his paper.

You were about to speak to the boy when the faint thread of green caught your attention. It pulled you to another scene. The boy was a few years older, lying in the hospital bed, his hair shaved off, but you could tell it was him by the freckles and gapped tooth. A women cried into his bed while a man turned away to look out the window. You desperately searched for another light to follow, but nothing appeared. You quickly came back to the present, a tear in the corner of your eye.

The boy jumped up. “What did you see?!”

You took a shaky breath and smiled. “You have a test coming up at school, don’t you?” 

The boys face went white. 

“Don’t worry love, you are going to pass.” You told him.

He pumped his fist. “Woo hoo!” He ran off to tell the good news to his mom and dad. You heard a faint, “Thank you!” from the crowd.

Your smile faded. Not all truths needed to be told. Not today. Not to the young, the innocent, to those still filled with joy. You tried not to dwell on it as your last customers of the night approached. A couple in their mid-thirties. The man tossed a quarter into your coin purse.

“Just my wife.” He humphed. “I don’t believe in all this mumbo jumbo.” 

“Where’s your sense of curiosity, Richard? “ He huffed. “It’s just a bit of fun.” She sat down as if side straddling a horse. “Don’t listen to him.” She whispered to you. “I think this place is magical.” 

You smiled sympathetically at her and took her hand. Your vision again went white. Dean who had ventured closer drew his gaze to the fire. This time light pink and blue strings reached out at you.

Instead of waiting until the end to explain, you walked them through it. “I feel warmth and happiness.” The husband again scoffed but you were unaware of it. “Sun is peeking through a kitchen window with yellow wallpaper and white cupboards, there are sunflowers growing tall outside. I see you. You’re glowing radiantly, singing as you wash dishes, your hand over a swollen belly. Your husband comes up behind you, much cheerier than now. He kisses you on the cheek and his hand joins yours. He spins you around the kitchen, swaying you back and forth and continuing your song.” The woman used her free hand to cover the shock on her face. You paused to follow the blue thread changing the vision. “You now both are standing over a crib. Sunflowers are freshly cut sitting on a dresser. A baby boy mirrors the joy you both have.”

You came back to and released her hand only to find her crying with her hand over her mouth and the husband fuming.

“What kind of sick joke is this?!” He demanded.

Your brow furrowed as you stood up, taking a step back in defense. Dean kept his focus on the fire but his attention was on you, instinctively going for the fire poker in case the situation escalated. 

“I don’t understand.” You opposed.

“We come here for a night out, and you have to rub this in our face?!” He continued. “Come on Mae, we’re leaving.” He grabbed his wife’s arm and yanked her up. He stormed back towards the crowd, but she stayed fixated on you.

“I never mean to upset anyone, I’m sorry. I only tell you what I see.” You tried to reason with her.

“I understand. You meant no harm.” She was finally able to speak. “It’s just… my dear… I’m afraid I’m barren.”

“Ahh… I see.” You nodded your head.

“Mae!” Her husband called.

You went closer and held her in your arms, whispering in her ear. “Go to the main tent and ask for a meeting with the Angel. Tell them I’ve sent you.”

Her eyes grew wide with hope, and you waved her away, encouraging her to hurry. After she disappeared into the crowd, you turned your attention towards Dean.

“It must be hard, doing what you do.” He commented, setting the poker down.

“Ah,” You scoffed. “I’ve had worst reactions than him… and I’ve been doing this for a very long time… I guess you grow used to it. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” 

Dean pulled the key from his pocket, waving it slightly. “We need to talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Just as I told them. I only say what I see. I have no control over the circumstances. No matter how people try to avoid it, it always leads them to that path. You should know that better than anyone.” You defended.

Dean remained calm. “What did you see?” He asked as he bent over to undo the cuff.

You huffed, unwilling to share. Dean stood back up. You desired to scratch at the marks the cuff had left behind but held your ground.

“Y/N, you can talk to me…” He pressed.

You sighed again and headed back towards your caravan, sitting down on the steps. Dean followed leaning against the railing as there was not enough room to join you.

You picked at your nails as you began to explain. “Your father would visit me once a month for a fortune. Usually it would bring about predictions for the business or perhaps a petty quarrel with staff… but last month was different.” You gulped remembering. “... I was so afraid to tell him, but he knew instantly something was off. I saw…” You tried to hold back tears. “I saw black smoke. I saw black smoke leaving his body. It was left cold and limp on his office floor.” You looked at Dean who was attempting to piece it together. “Dean, your father was murdered by a demon.”

Dean didn’t understand. With all the symbols and traps at the house, in that very office. “That shouldn’t be possible.”


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s what I saw Dean!” You defended. With the cuff removed from your ankle, you wanted nothing more than to go wande through the field but instead you grabbed your skirt and twirled to the caravan.

He readily chased after you. “I’m not doubting you Y/N.” Your hand paused on the metal door handle. “I just can’t understand.” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “… That’s all I know Dean. I didn’t see anything else. I don’t know anything else.” You waited for him to continue but turned back towards him when he didn’t. “What are you going to do?” 

He rubbed his hand against the wooden knob on the railing. “I came here to say goodbye to my father and to bury a past I’m not interested in…” He looked up, into your eyes. “But I need to know what happened.” 

You nodded your understanding. “Let me help.”

“As you said, you know nothing more.” Dean shook his head defeated.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be of service.” You smirked with the pop of an eyebrow. He looked at you questionly. “Perhaps someone’s future will give clues to the past?”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he pondered. The lights audibly sounded as they shut off the ferris wheel. Dean’s attention followed the remaining rides as they sequentially powered off. “It’s late. We can figure it out in the morning.”

A few moments of silence passed. You considered inviting him in, to stay the night. You couldn’t imagine him going to back to that home; that he’d get any sleep there. “See you in the morning, Winchester.” You pulled your shawl closer around you as you watched him trod off through the grounds.

* * *

Dean made his way back to his father’s home. The door remained open from earlier that evening. He waltzed in without minding to close the door behind. The wooden stairs creaked underneath his weight as he waltzed to the second level. Three doors down to the right was his childhood bedroom. He cautiously swung open the door, almost daunted, as if a wave of unwanted memories would come crashing through.

His room remained largely unchanged since the day he left. A wooden frame holding a twin mattress covered in an army green comforter, a bookcase filled with lore and model cars, and sports equipment in the corners; all collecting dust and spiderwebs. Yet he could clearly see where the dust had been disturbed from his father’s recent activity. Devil traps covered the door and glass of the window.

Dean tossed his hat and coat over the bed before rolling up his sleeves. Instead of heading to bed, he went down to the shed.

* * *

It was late morning when you finally woke. The sun peeked through the cracks of your caravan. Your legs were tangled in a quilt that matched the rest of your strewn together life. After lazily stretching in bed for a few minutes, you contemplated yourself in the mirror for a few minutes. You washed your face and let down your dreads.

The circus grounds were dusty from the trampling of the crowd the night before. And in contrast to the rambunctious sound, it was quiet and still. Only a few performers were yet up; cleaning up their stands and shops or stretching for the upcoming acts tonight. You passed the main tents and paused upon seeing Crowley taking a drag outside the entrance. You whipped your skirt showing off your free ankle before sneering at him and continuing on your way. He flicked his cigarette with a huff and skulked back into the tent.

You continued your search for Dean, passing through the grounds to the house on the outskirts of the woods. You considered the open door, questioning if you should go in, but ultimately your concern for Dean’s safety won over. You entered the home, more familiar with its layout than ever before due to the recent and increased visits. Immediately you headed for Dean’s room but were stopped upon seeing him passed out in an armchair in the sitting room, still in his suit from yesterday. You smirked at the brush in his hand and the bucket by his foot.

Sneaking closer, you realized he must have been at it all night. Both his hands were red and blistered. Gently, you pried the brush from his hand. He stirred a bit but drifted back into a peaceful sleep. As not to disturb him further, the kitchen seemed far enough away to work until he was ready to meet the day.

* * *

Dean scrubbed, and scrubbed, until he could scrub no more. He was in the living room removing a stubborn trap. No matter how hard he pressed, the paint remained. He picked at the paint with his fingers but it refused to budge. He brushed down again, but couldn’t picture the trap to see whether the paint remained. He squinted as the light became brighter. He woke in a fluster in the armchair, taking a few moments to realize he had stopped scrubbing sometime during the night but continued on into his dreams. Yet the sound persisted. He rubbed his eyes before going to find its source.

He quickly found you kneeled on the floor, washing away, your body rocking back and forth, the skirt accentuating your hips. He leaned against the frame, indulging his unnamed desire before he spoke. “It’s too early for cleaning.” He grumbled.

You continued working away. “Coffee’s ready on the stove.”

Dean grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and poured from the kettle while subtly sneaking a few more glances your way. The brush fell into the bucket with a splash. You dried your hands on the end of your skirt before hoisting yourself up and joining Dean.

“Still like your coffee like your hair?” He asked already pouring a ridiculous amount of cream into yours.

You raised your eyebrows, satisfied as he handed it to you. “You remember me too well, Winchester.”

“You’re hard to forget, Moonchild.” He smirked back. You smiled into the warm cup of coffee. Dean cleared his throat. “Well, I had a lot of time to think last night, and I like your idea. So in between adding calluses to calluses,” He walked out of the kitchen to the office, and you followed. “I found my dad’s staff list. I’d like you to have a look over it to confirm its accuracy.”

You took the parchment from him, flipping through a few pages. “Crowley would know better than me.” You painfully admitted.

“I’ll have him take a look too. I just want your eye in this… You’re perhaps the only one I trust in the whole of this outfit.” He confessed.

You placed your hand over your heart, but stayed focused on the list. “Ah, it seems right to me.” You shrugged your shoulders, wishing you could be more helpful. “Shall we start at the top?”

“Let’s start with the big kahuna himself.” Dean suggested. Your unenthusiasm clearly showed. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time.” He encouraged.

You straightened yourself. “I can handle that miscreant.” 

Dean chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you can. I want to be there to see it.”

***

Dean and you strolled into circus tent, elbow in elbow. Your sour expression had changed to a mischievous smirk, excited to have the boss on your side; to have a bit of power in your hands.

“Crowley!” Dean barked.

The king was surrounded by a group of performers, critiquing the dress rehearsal he just observed. His head rolled with his eyes as he turned to meet Dean.

“If you don’t mind, we have a show to put on, and if we want to avoid the disastrous spectacle that was last night, I have no time for distractions.” He complained.

“Knowing your shitty manners, I am sure you have seen the will by now…” Dean started. Crowley bit at the side of his cheek. “Things are going to run a little differently around here now. And we are beginning with personal interviews.” Crowley eyed you suspiciously. “Would you like to conduct yours with or without the group?”

Crowley tapped his foot impatiently. “If you insist on wasting my time…” He huffed when Dean did not negate and headed out the tent.

Before following him out, Dean and you shared a look, somewhat excited yet concerned what may come from Crowley’s reading. He stepped around the tent, farther from the entrance, hoping for increased privacy.

“Crowley.” You addressed. “Penny for your thoughts?” You cunningly smiled and held out your hand.

He looked between you and Dean. “Like bloody hell you’re going to read my fortune. This is an abuse of workers’ rights. I’ve been nothing but…”

“Crowley.” Dean forcefully interrupted. “This is a new protocol. We are screening everyone looking for clues into my father’s death. If you disagree, the main highway is that way.” Dean pointed. Crowley’s jaw clenched but he remained put. “On the other hand, if you are willing to comply, and your reading comes back clean, nobody knows this circus as well as you do. I’d like you to stay on and help me run things, the same as you did for my father.” 

Crowley pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, grumbling while he did. He held out is hand towards you. “I’ll bloody know if you’re lying.” He warned.

You looked cautiously at Dean first, before reaching out to Crowley’s hand. Dean turned his head, looking out to the field as your eyes rolled to white. Unlike the paying customers, harsh shades of red and black flooded your vision. You tugged on a jagged black tendril to follow. It pulled you down his journey.

“He’s in a big city…” You slowly explained to Dean as the vision unfolded. “Chicago I think. He’s looking for deals to make. Targeting patrons and drunkards at a greasy bar. Trading favors for their souls. I don’t recognize anyone from the circus with him. He’s on his own.” You looked for another trail to follow but that was all that was going to be revealed now. You stepped back, coming towards the light of day. 

Dean shook his head in disgust. “I should spare those poor fools and just end it now.” Dean grabbed Crowley by the collar.

“Do it.” He threatened. “I’ll be back. Her visions don’t change.”

“Filth.” Dean shoved him back.

Crowley ignored the insult and smoothed over his jacket. “Now, unless you’ve found any condemning evidence, I’ll get back to the act so we can all continue getting paid.”

Dean bitterly crossed his name off the list. “Send the others out, one by one.”

Crowley left without a word but the order held. He sent out the werewolf first. She was timid and shy. After taking her hand, you saw her forced transformation for the act over and over again. You saw a conversation between her and Sam Winchester, but could barely decipher what was said. And finally you saw her in a cage, a transformation naturally occurring as a full moon’s light crept through a basement window. You held out to tell Dean the last bit. Out next were the maintenance workers and then the angels. Your personal favorite the one with eyes bluer than the sky.

“Castiel!” You greeted him with an embrace. “You know, for only living a few tents down, we really should not have any excuses to avoid more frequent visits.”

“You visit me enough through your patrons.” He complained.

You scoffed. “You like it.” You tempted.

“I’m here for entertainment purposes, Y/N. If you continue to call on me for other abilities, we’ll be known more as faith healers than a circus.” He argued.

“You know what they say about customers, Castiel? It doesn’t matter what they come for, only that they buy.” You winked.

Dean cleared his throat, interrupting your conversation. He rolled his finger signalling you hurry along.

“Dean.” Castiel acknowledge him. “My condolences.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“I know you’re busy.” He held out his hand to you.

Castiel’s trails were as blue as his eyes. You picked one to follow. Immediately an overwhelming smell of smoke hit you. Choked your lungs. Made it hard to breathe. Castiel stood in the middle of a dark field, alone and lost. His wings held low, the tips of them scorched. You shook your head, not understanding. You followed another string of blue, looking for relief. But you couldn’t see. Your eyes burned. You could only hear shrieks and screams. You heard a flutter behind you and a strong hand grabbed your wrist. You fought against it.

“Stop.” You protested. “Stop!”

Castiel ripped his hand from you, assuming it would break the connection. But your eyes remained white. Dean rushed to catch you as you collapsed. Your vision remained blinding white. You weren’t seeing anyone’s future but your own. No, it was your past.

Your stomach growled in pain, looking across the street at the shiny red apples covering a market’s cart. You were dressed in nothing but rags and your toes stuck out of shoes touching the snowy ground below. You dared wander closer to the cart, its height a good four inches taller than you. You listened for the man running the market, waiting for him to engage with a customer before you made your move. After painstakingly long moments, you finally heard someone inquire about the oranges opposite of the apples. You quickly reached up and took one in your grasp. You bolted down the street waiting for the comotion to follow.

“You demon-witch!” The owner yelled. “I’ll shoot ya next time you come around. You hear me! I’ll shoot ya!”

You didn’t look back. You ran blocks and blocks, dodging your way through the concrete jungle filled with cars and people. Until you came to an alley way you called home. You sat against the brick wall, catching your breath before digging into your prize. The cold air was sharp, but eventually you settled. You could practically taste the sweet juice as you raised the apple to your lips, but a iron hand came down, grabbing it from you.

Leaping to your feet, you attempted to dart past the large coated stranger but a strong grip clutched to your shoulder. A scream left your lips, but in this part of the city, no one would care if a street-rat went missing.

“Hey, settle.” A voice as strong as the hands commanded.

He turned you around and it wasn’t until the towering figure knelt down to look you in the eyes that you finally calmed down. His brown eyes were warm and inviting. His face was dotted with red freckles.

He held the apple just out of your reach. “What if I told you there was a place where you could get as many of these as your like? All without having to pay a dime. Would you like that?” He asked and you gingerly nodded in response.“You can call me John, what’s your name?” 

“Y/N!” Another voice called. You felt yourself shake. “Y/N!”

Your eyes fluttered open, returning back to the present. Both Dean and Castiel knelt over you, full of concern.

“What happened?” Dean demanded.

You simply shook your head. “It wasn’t him.” You pushed off Dean, standing a little too quickly. Your hand went for your forehead, attempting to counteract the dizziness.

“Something went wrong.” Dean pushed.

“No… Its..” You started.

“Perhaps she is a little burned out.” Castiel suggested.

Dean nodded his head buying it. “Yeah. We’ve been working you too hard. Let’s take a break.” 

“I’m fine Dean.” You defended. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

“We’ve crossed off twenty names already.” He argued. “I’d say that’s a full days work. ‘Sides, I need you on your A game for tonight’s customers.”

“Fine.” You defiantly complied.

The three of you stood there in silence. Neither one budged.

Castiel broke first, clearing his throat. “Well, I should get back…” He signaled back towards the tent.

“Yeah. Of course.” Dean agreed.

“See ya ‘round, Castiel.” You added.

He nodded his head and wandered back.

“Y/N…” Dean cooed. “You know you can talk to me.” 

You cast your gaze downward, staring at your bare feet.

Dean sighed, giving up in defeat. “Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? ‘Fore we open?”

You nodded.

“Meet me 25 meters north of the oaks.” He instructed.

You smiled finally meeting his again. “You remember?”

“How could I forget, Moonchild?” He winked, before heading back to the home.


End file.
